


Talk Dirty

by Hipsterian



Category: Winner (Band)
Genre: Dirty Thoughts, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, can't blame him because Lee Seunghoon, crackfic, minho is horny, sex without feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:35:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24098938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hipsterian/pseuds/Hipsterian
Summary: Minho and Seunghoon aren't friends but have a very rare agreement to have sex with each other when needed.
Relationships: Lee Seunghoon/Song Minho | Mino
Kudos: 12





	Talk Dirty

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not the type to write smut, but this sudden idea came to mind and I had to write it.  
> I also don't know how I managed to write Minhoon.  
> Thanks for reading.  
> PS: English is not my native tongue, so sorry for the massive amount of mistakes.

Talk Dirty

“Now, get out!” he says, pointing at him. He looks great, all naked, his abs exposed, half-lying on the bed, his hair dishevelled. His eyes, too, are unfocused, filled with stars and left-over lust.

“But I'm so tired, hyung,” he pouts, acting adorable. It’s late and he doesn’t have the energy to walk home – not after what they have done, Seunghoon has drained him, cramming him with pleasure, exhausting all his supply of stamina (he doesn’t have much, to begin with, but after Seunghoon, after he lunged towards him, he has none; he only wants to crash in this soft, unmade bed and sleep).

“I'm going to wake up at 8:00 am you better not be here at 7:30. Understood?” Seunghoon says, getting up from the bed. “I’ll clean this mess later” he adds heading to the couch, holding a spear bedsheet and a cushion. Minho knows that, for Seunghoon, leaving without cleaning is hard, that he is a neat person – that’s why it’s not him sleeping in between crumpled sheets and crusty white stains and pools of sweat.

This, Jinwoo has explained, is the way Seunghoon has to show care and affection. Not that he wants it, he is happy with their arrangement. He prefers cuddling together, soft kisses on his forehead, but he is well aware that Seunghoon is not up for any of this, that he doesn’t want any kind of skinship or snuggling – any kind of commitment or closeness. He always leaves after he is done with him. For the last few times, though, he hasn’t kicked him out or ordered him to shower straight away, so he thinks it’s an improvement.

Minho sighs, content. He spreads on the bed, curled down ruffled sheets. It smells like Seunghoon and sex.

It's not the first time, so he knows he will sleep well – and it’s not only because of how tired he is after hours of being tangled, of Seunghoon pushing in, thrusting and moaning. He takes the bottle of water and swallows it in one gulp – Seunghoon makes him thirsty, makes him crave for more with his long legs and his sex-appealing neck that begs to be bitten, to be claimed as Minho’s with teeth and tongue.

Minho doesn't remember how it was the first time. He remembers the company's party. He recalls the alcohol, drinking against Jinwoo - probably loosing. And Seunghoon had to carry him home. To his home.

He woke up next morning naked, happy, fulfilled and with the worst hangover ever. The room and the light made him dizzy, mushy, queasy.

Seunghoon filled in the blank spaces. How he was so drunk and hard he was literally begging him for a rough night. And Seunghoon agreed. Because of the pouting and whinnying. Because of how lame and pitiful he was.

“If I lend you my dick, will you stop complaining?” he had said. It did work because he fell asleep right after finishing, right in Seunghoon’s arms. “I had to drag you out. You were dead-weight, man!” he explained – which explained the bruises and the pain on his back (a pain that wasn’t as pleasant as the other one he felt).

When he faced Seunghoon that morning, he was mortified, contrite – he couldn’t remember and Seunghoon was adamantly avoiding him after his explanation. He threw him pills for the headache before pushing out on the streets. There was a part of him settled down while the other was just screaming in agony, shit-faced.

Since then he has used the same strategy to get Seunghoon naked on his bed. He pouts and nags and demands and he is so unbearable annoying and tiresome that, just to make him shut up, Seunghoon agrees.

“It’s angry sex,” he called it. “Because I hate you, prick.”

But as much as Seunghoon is disgusted, he never turns him down. He brings him home and lets him play with his body, giving him what he pleads and implores. He thrusts inside him with force, turning Minho into a mess of moans. He bites him fiercely, red strains that tide Minho to him – though Seunghoon says he does it to get even with him. He doesn’t care as long as he has him inside, his hands trailing on his skin, his mouth covering his tattoos, licking his earlobes. Whenever he is like this with Seunghoon, Minho feels in heaven. Seunghoon is so good, he makes him shake in anticipation, all his bones like butter, melting at his touch. He is hard just by thinking about Seunghoon – he has boners all day long.

But it’s just normal when Seunghoon comes to work with tight, black jeans, a fitted white shirt and his black hair falling on his temples. Irresistible, flustering – everyone in the office is whipped by him, Minho is no exception (but Minho is the one who goes to bed with him, even if it’s only as a favour, as the only way to keep his mouth sealed).

Minho stares at him, longing, smirking, relishing with the advancement of what he will do with him tonight – because Seunghoon has to know that he belongs to Minho tonight and always, that he has claimed him and there is no way out (that he will do anything to make it happen, to withhold him inside his arms and his dick).

Minho needs three breaks to survive the day and to convince Seunghoon.

“You are sick,” it’s his answer. Seunghoon ignores his pleadings and Minho goes home empty-handed and horny as fuck.

He might have a problem with Seunghoon, an addiction. He can’t control his instincts around him, he can’t restrain the urge, he becomes hard just with his voice over the telephone. He can’t concentrate – not that he concentrates much on the daily, according to Jinwoo, always daydreaming, always talking dirty about Seunghoon, always implying more than just casual rendevous and multiplies-night-stands. Seunghoon is lustful, whatever he does, he turns it into a bonfire of hotness and sexual desires. It’s not really Minho’s fault that his mind is filled with perversions, with role-plays where he punishes Seunghoon for being too luscious and attractive. When he smirks, Minho loses it – he could ravish him in front of their boss, lost his job just to kiss him senselessly.

But it’s just sex; that’s their agreement, Seunghoon’s politic. Just sex, no attachments, no bounding, no going out together, no feelings at all.

Jinwoo, though, says otherwise. About Seunghoon because for him it’s blatantly clear that Minho fancies Seunghoon a lot. Minho has a hard time hiding it from Seunghoon, turning his feelings into lust and passion and lewd grumbles, a fight for dominance. But he thinks he is doing a good job since Seunghoon hasn't rebuked him yet, he lets his hands undress him, his mouth claiming his skin, his voice a lustful moan calling for more.

“Seunghoon has water bottles on his bed-side-table,” Jinwoo comments, “and it’s not even on the side he sleeps in,” he adds, holding a smile. He doesn’t say anything else, leaving Minho to think about the implications, feeling jealous because Jinwoo has this kind of inside information.

It’s true that Seunghoon cares; he won’t admit it but he feeds Minho, takes him to the shower after their night, rubs the tiredness out of his bones with fresh towels and essential oils. He snarls at him more often than he talks to him, but, overall, it feels like something new. Minho likes it. He likes the sex - oh, loves that, he could stay up ravishing him all night if only he had more stamina -, but he likes snuggling with him better – lately, Seunghoon has allowed him to sleep pressed against his chest, his hands brushing aways his sticky hair, fingers pressing the dimples on his cheeks when he smiles, content. Lately, too, he has become softer, less rough in bed, less dominant. He kisses him now – breaking his own grounding rules about innecessary touching. He slides his hands on his torso just to feel his heart-beats, his chin resting on his shoulder while blowing fresh air to his ear – sometimes telling him that he is beautiful.

“If I go on a date with you, will you stop cornering me with your nasty, desperate needs?” he wonders one morning after breakfast. He has cooked Minho’s favourite ramyon with chicken breast and made him a perfect Iced Americano, without asking him first.

“We can try, hyung,” that’s another thing that is new: the comfort between them, the naturality. From “don’t talk to me” they have moved to “talking friendly”, from “matting like rabbits” to “sex with care”. Which Minho is thankful for – because heated intercourses leave him breathless and he is not young anymore for so much activity, despite that was him the one igniting the spark.

Minho is still a horny bitch for Seunghoon, but now that he has granted access to roll on his bed, to stay night and day, - he feels it bearable. Now he doesn’t beg or annoys Seunghoon: sex is a given. He doesn’t need to ask, he only needs to stay on top of him, hands on his hips, kissing him slowly, lovingly – and sometimes it is just sitting like this, together, sweetly kissing. And long afternoon watching TV, walking holding hands under the blooming cherries, dining out and cooking at home, double-dates with Jinwoo and Seungyoon. Now that they are dating – now that they are still trying, - life feels better. Minho can call Seunghoon without a particular reason, he can crash at his place without an invitation, he can kiss him freely without being pushed away – without Seunghoon hating it.

“What has changed?” Minho asks, drinking his Americano, staring at Seunghoon with affection. Seunghoon shrugs.

“Jinwoo hyung convinced me to give you a chance,” he admits, rolling his eyes – Minho smiles because this is something he loves: how tranquil Seunghoon can say the most controversial things.

“So I own him,” he smirks, nodding.

“I own him, too. Thanks to his experiment, you stopped bothering me with your horny ass.”

“Now my lecherous ass belongs to you,” Minho says, grinning. Seunghoon throws a toast at him – it fails for miles and it falls, flat, on the floor.

“You are disgusting”.

“But you like it,” he replies.

“I like when you are moaning, at least you are not talking shit,” he laughs, hands covering his face. “Whenever you open your mouth, I have the urge to shut it close with a kiss, to prevent nonsenses attacking my brain.”

“Then, just to be sure, you should kiss me now,” Minho suggests. It just takes a blink to have Seunghoon on his arms, kissing him lovingly.

“And this is the most effective way to stop you from talking dirty to me,” he whispers, lips on his temple.


End file.
